It's too late to confess now
by Crimson1
Summary: 66 You didn't miss a chapter. The last one is a poemsong. Anyway, this is Ken's last chance, his final choice one way or the other. How will it end? R&R!
1. Prologue

It's Too Late to Confess Now  
  
  
*****Prologue*****  
  
  
The world is teeming with ignorant people living false, empty lives, and most of them don't even realize it. They are convinced they are happy. They are so certain, in fact, that at every turn true happiness will always pass them by.   
  
How heartbreaking.   
  
Someone could live out their entire existence believing they found the love of their life, when they really only settled for an illusion. Someone could be friends with a person for years believing they never before have ever been this close to another, when they really don't know their so called friend at all. Some unfortunate fool could go day by day believing they are happy, when truthfully, they are merely blinded by all the world wants them to believe.  
  
Then again, some of us know better...  
  
Meager light forces its way through a tiny crack in the window above, offering the only tangible illumination in the room. On a normal day the sun would be pouring in from that window, an hour or so away from setting, but today there is only distorted light coming from outside. Overcast and melancholy, it has rained all day, poured with purpose, and there is no reason for it to stop now.  
  
Taking sanctuary from the downpour, Hidaka Ken has remained within the trailer since the storm first began early that morning. Small comfort; it really hadn't been his choice to stay. The overbearing leader of Weiss, Fujimiya Aya...no...Ran, ordered him not to leave.  
  
Weiss. White hunters in the night, they strike down the black beasts of a city that has forgotten gentleness. Heroes to some, villains to others, and nothing but murderers to themselves. Still, Weiss is who they are, who Hidaka Ken is, and even if any of the members wanted to, they wouldn't be allowed to leave without penalty of death.  
  
It is one of the many codes of the assassin they are supposed to follow. Once in, there is no way out, unless you forfeit your life. Any failure in a mission will immediately result in your untimely eradication. No one can ever see your face or witness a mission, and all who do must be handled without mercy. The list goes on.  
  
Of course, they have broken these rules time and time again, and have yet to follow the first rule of assassination at all.  
  
Kill the assassins.  
  
Ken fidgets in his seat beside the window, his knees pulled into his chest, while his head rests stiffly against the glass. Eyes to match the sea, so liquid beautiful, appear dull and distant, trapped within an endless stream of visions, bringing him back to last night's events. The reason he is confined today. What began as just another routine mission...  
  
*flash*  
  
"Siberian, where is your head?! One of the targets is getting away!" the tall red-head yells in his direction, fending off an opponent with his gleaming katana.   
  
The mission isn't turning out quite as they hoped it would, but then again, few ever do.  
  
Across the room - a large basement, littered with machines and devices for the inhuman experiments Weiss has been contracted to stop - Ken stands over the body of one of the ring leaders, breathing heavily.   
  
For a long time he had been continuously slicing his claws into the man's flesh, leaving it like some gruesome, battered rag-doll, even after realizing his prey was far beyond death, and paused only after Ran's voice called him away from the fun of his actions.  
  
Fun. It sounds rather sickening to call it that, doesn't it? But that is exactly what it is to Ken these days. He jumps at the opportunity of every new mission. More and more, he becomes frustrated during the day while working in the shop, longing for a cold night's work, and the chance to put his deadly gloves to use.  
  
Long ago, he believed the rapid pounding of his pulse was due to anxiety and disgust, that his hands shook because he was repulsed by the work he had to do. Recently, however, Ken has come to realize that he was wrong. His pulse speeds up from the thrill, his hands shake in anticipation, and he even smiles - sneers - at the feeling of his victim's heart beating right through to his hands from his weapon's contact, until the glorious moment when it stops.  
  
"Ken! Do you hear me?! The target!!"  
  
Jolting out of his pleasured triumph, Ken at last looks up at Ran - still dueling his own opponent - and finally realizes that the last of their quarries has dashed past him, and is running up the basement stairs into the house.  
  
(One more for me...) the brunette grins, and is racing up in pursuit without a second thought.  
  
This final target is by far the youngest, perhaps even younger than Ken, and is clearly scared out of his mind, for although the trained assassin at his heels is brutally fast, he is keeping a good distance ahead. Such a shame it won't be that way for long.  
  
With a sudden surge forward, Ken lashes out, digging his claws deep into the younger man's back. He is dead before he hits the ground. One might call this precision. But for a single stroke to bring someone's life to an end, I call it savage.  
  
Ken's breath is uneven and resonant, filling every crevice of the small hallway the chase had led to, and he suppresses a satisfied shiver, bearing the slightest hint of a smile. A smile that would appall even the most experienced soldier.  
  
Consumed by the moment, Ken drives the glinting steel of his claws straight through the back of the dead body on the ground, feeling them make contact with the floor. Why is it this brings him so much joy...?  
  
Just then, light from the room to his left falls upon his bent form, the door pulling open. Ken is blinded by the brightness of it in such dark surroundings, but he can still make out the shape of someone standing in the doorway, looking out at him.  
  
Another lamb for the slaughter.  
  
Howling maniacally, Ken leaps to his feet and strikes, following the outline of the intruder as it crumbles to the ground. A scream echoes from inside the room. There is someone else there, someone else with the unfortunate pleasure of having witnessed what never should have been seen.  
  
Ken snatches up his most recent prey from the ground, only slightly put-off by its lightness, and enters the room, searching for the source of that piercing shriek. There can be no loose ends, after all.  
  
There, cowering in the corner, is the prize, and Ken's face twists further into a crazed smirk. He advances, one hand gripping the collar of his latest victim - still breathing, but fatally wounded - and the other clenched and ready to add one more kill to tonight's accomplishments.  
  
Small, whimpered protests greet his approaching figure, but the brunette has forgotten pity. It never really existed, never could, in a line of work such as his.  
  
He raises his claw, eager to put an end to those pathetic pleads of mercy...  
  
"Ken, stop! What are you doing?!" Tsukiyono Omi's unexpected voice cries from the doorway, begrudgingly halting Ken's blow. "They're just little kids..."  
  
As if his vision had been blinded, Ken begins to see clearly again, and the image of a frightened little girl before him - 10 years old, if not younger - catches his breath in his throat.  
  
Suddenly, strong arms are grabbing hold of him, pulling him away, and trying to free his other victim from the locking grip of his clawed fist. He doesn't struggle, but his hand refuses to let go.  
  
"God, Ken, what did you do...?" Kudo Youji voices in disbelief, forcing Ken's free arm down as he helps Ran pull him away from the girl in the corner.  
  
The serious red-head's job is much more difficult, struggling to force Ken's clenched fist to release. "Let go, Ken." he commands, low and steady, yet on the verge of anxious emotion, even for one usually so expressionless. "This isn't a target. Let him go."  
  
Shaking all over his body, Ken tears his gaze away from the panicked girl in front of him, forcing himself to look at who is being held in his grasp.   
  
Hanging by the front of a now torn nightshirt, the bleeding victim is still alive, somehow, fighting to hang on. His tiny feet don't even touch the ground. Another child. So young. Half the age of the girl who has been spared.  
  
"Oh God..." Ken breathes, his eyes locked on the carnage in his hand, though he is still unable to let go.   
  
The realization is just too much. Not because he has done something so unthinkable to a child. Not because of that. But because, deep down, he knows he enjoyed it.  
  
At long last, Ran is able to pry Ken's fingers away, and the young boy falls to the floor. His breathing is slowing; sharp intakes that look and sound so very painful. The claw marks down his shoulder and chest are deep, too deep to repair. He doesn't have much time, and the tears falling from such innocent eyes could be acid, with the remnants on Ken's glove burning him alive.  
  
"Ken-kun...how could you...?" Omi barely gets out, hovering near the door, and wrapping his arms around himself to stay the effects of a sudden wave of cold.  
  
Youji and Ran still have hold of Ken's arms, and are trying to lead him away, pulling the brunette's now limp body from the horrors of the room.   
  
Rushing to her brother's side - worlds away now - the young girl clings to his dying body, crying fiercely, and glaring at the retreating assassins with deep hatred emanating from her eyes. "What have you done to Hajime-chan?! You...murderer!" she screams.   
  
Little Hajime's breathing is even more staggered, barely alive now, and a sickly color is overtaking his skin.  
  
"Use your legs, Ken. We're leaving." Ran speaks into his devastated friend's ear, still close as he pulls Ken back into the hallway. Youji lets go then, holding back the churning in his stomach, as he distances himself from the bloody claws of his teammate.  
  
"But...Aya-kun..."  
  
"There is nothing we can do for that boy." Ran states firmly in response to Omi's faltering words. "This mission is over. We're going home."  
  
Even after they clear the building, the girl's cries and curses follow Ken like a persistent shadow, and the sight of his mark left on the body of that boy ingrained itself forever into his memory.  
  
More than that, the knowledge of how it felt - how good it felt - and the fleeting glances of his companions as they ride home, are more than he can bear.  
  
*flash*  
  
A growl of thunder pulls Ken from the clutches of his brooding memory, the rain outside still falling harshly against the side of the trailer, and dripping through the crack in the window above. Though a few drops have landed on Ken's face, he only now realizes they are there, wiping them away.  
  
The liquid reminds him of tears as they brush against his fingertips. Tears he should have shed for the boy he killed, but couldn't.   
  
Though he has been cooped-up all day, the others are out doing errands, finding themselves quite busy, even with the shop closed because of the weather. Well, perhaps that isn't entirely true.  
  
(They're...afraid of me...) Ken thinks somberly, pulling his knees in more tightly to his chest. (K'so...even I'm...afraid of me...)  
  
The troubled brunette suddenly tosses his legs over the edge of his seat and stands, raking a tense hand through his mused and dampened hair. He begins heading for his room then, while the chorus of bitter thoughts continues playing their part over in his mind.  
  
(I...enjoy it now...don't I? Instead of dreading missions, I look forward to them...) he muses, and then pauses momentarily in his step, before moving on again. (Iie, it's not the missions. I look forward to...killing. Hehe. That should bother me more than it does, shouldn't it? Hehehe...heh. I enjoy killing people...)   
  
Reaching his room, Ken instantly goes for the closet, scavenging through it for his gloves, and smirking greedily when he finds them, still dried with blood from the night before. Deliberately slow, he slips them on, clenching his fists to display the proud claws within, and turning his hands to watch the blades shimmer in the shadows.  
  
(Hehehe...I have to make it stop...) his crazed thoughts form, scaring him and exciting him at the same time. (I have to stop myself...have to stop...Weiss...before...before they end up like me...)  
  
Heading for the living room to wait, Ken's deadly claws are anxious for his unsuspecting prey to make their way home...  
  
  
*****A/N*****  
  
  
No flames, and please don't hate me! There is a reason for all this. If you have heard or read what is on the Dramatic Prescious CDs you should understand why I had to do this. If you haven't, go read it now. There are full translations at this sight: http://kekkai.org/wkcorner/ Go to media, then drama, and then dramatic prescious. There are many other great things to explore here if you've never been to this site, but it hasn't been updated since last December. Anyway, I hope you can understand. I won't say what is going to happen. You can probably guess, but then again, I might surprise you. Please give this a chance. This is the first part of what will become five parts, and when it's done I'll try to do something more chipper in the future. Also, please go read my FarfxSchu fic, "Too much time to think." I loaded it right after ff.net's brief down time, and I think alot of you might have missed it, cause I think it's a real good read, but I only got one review. Pretty please! :-) Thankies all, and PLEASE REVIEW!! 


	2. Part 1

*****Part 1*****  
  
  
"Ken-kun! I'm home!" Omi calls into the trailer, slipping inside the door, and allowing his bag to fall carelessly beside the chair next to the closet. "It finally stopped raining, but it's still so dark out. Why are all the lights off?"  
  
Venturing further inside, the young blonde squints through the darkness, nearly tripping over a small footstool as he feels his way into the living room. He has been offered no reply to his greeting, and sees very little signs that anyone is home. This unsettles him greatly; they are all so worried about Ken and his recent change in behavior.   
  
If the hot-blooded brunette is not here, then where has he gone, and what is he up to?  
  
"Ken-kun...are...are you here...?" the increasingly uncomfortable young man whispers into the shadows, too afraid to move further forward, and yet too unsure to move back again.  
  
Such disturbing silence. Omi finds himself shaking, trembling with cold and worry, while the misshapen shadows on the walls and furniture appear as if alive, hiding some monster within each and every fissure of fabric.  
  
Why is darkness so frighteningly endless when the light is always so abrupt? He longs for that fleeting light, desperate for it, and despite any apprehension, inches his way over to the table on his right, groping blindly for the lamp switch.  
  
Click. Not much for brightening the trailer, but enough for Omi to see in front of his face, and to help him make out the still profile of someone sitting at the far end of the living room, half turned away from the entrance, and with little acknowledgment to being intruded upon.  
  
"Oh...there you are, Ken-kun." he sighs, somewhat relieved, and yet still very wisely tentative. "You didn't answer when I called. With all the lights off I...I didn't think you were here."   
  
All Omi can make out from where he stands is the side of Ken's face, very blank and pale, with chocolate hair falling into his eyes, and the rest of his body buried in the cushions of his chair.  
  
At first, Omi doesn't think his eerily quiet friend is going to reply, but eventually, Ken turns his head, gazing over at the younger boy coldly.  
  
"Where would I have gone, Omi...? There is no place left for me to go."  
  
The uneasy blonde swallows hard, unable to move, and wishes he could offer Ken a smile of encouragement, but discovers the corners of his mouth will no longer listen to his commands.   
  
Something in the air is...wrong. Unnatural. Something about the look in Ken's eyes, the way he had just been sitting contentedly in the pitch black, ripples over Omi's skin like a bitter breeze.  
  
He has never felt this way before. Not around Ken. A person who has always been like an older brother, forever a close friend, shouldn't be making his stomach twist and turn like this. It isn't right.  
  
"Are you okay, Ken-kun...?" the timid boy chokes out, still frozen beside the table lamp. "I know what happened last night was...horrible...but you can't do this to yourself. Sitting here in the dark, all alone, the whole day, it...it isn't good for you."  
  
"And what is?" Ken bites back, turning more fully in his chair, though Omi can barely see anything other than shifting shadows. "What *is* good for me, Omi? Pretending I'm not as messed up as you all think I am, though you keep lying to yourselves that I'm not? Is that what I should do? Pretend, like the rest of you?"  
  
Taken aback by the sharpness of Ken's tone, Omi falters, wanting to be anywhere but here at the moment. A warm, inviting place with more light, more people, and a safe place to hide. Basically, he wants to run away. He wants to run away from his best friend.  
  
If this really is his friend anymore...  
  
Narrowing his eyes, more out of pleading anguish than anger, Omi shakes his head fiercely in denial. "How can you say that? We're not pretending anything. There's nothing wrong with you, Ken-kun. You're fine. You'll be yourself again in a few days, you'll see. It's just been too much lately."  
  
"Lately?" Ken echoes with a derisive laugh, at last rising from his chair, and taking a few fluid steps into the light offered by that blazing lamp. "Do you mean these past few days, or these past few months? All these months, Omi, while I keep getting worse, and you keep getting better at fooling yourselves! Don't you get it!? I am *not* fine!"  
  
CRASH! Ken's sudden anger erupts, and he backhands an arrangement of flowers to the floor, shattering the vase, and causing Omi to flinch away as the brunette approaches. The small bit of light in the room falls upon him fully now, revealing an image far more distressing than could have possibly been expected.  
  
Brown strands of hair lay in tangles, eyes usually so vibrant and caring reflect nothing of the man that should be staring back, the movements of such strong limbs seem inhumanly rigid, and...  
  
"...claws..." Omi whispers, so softly, he barely mouths the word. "Why...why are you wearing your gloves, Ken-kun...?"  
  
"You just couldn't bring yourself to admit it, could you, Omi? None of you were willing to admit what was happening to me." the advancing brunette speaks darkly, ignoring Omi's troubled question. "Did you think it would go away, that it would get better? I like killing people, Omi. Something like that doesn't just go away..."  
  
"Stop, Ken-kun, please." whimpers out Omi's heart-wrenched words, holding back frightened tears, and still unable to move as Ken steps in closer. "Please, you're...you're..."  
  
"I'm what? Scaring you? Are you scared of me, Omi?"  
  
Shivering in place, the cornered blonde cannot tear his eyes away from the glinting blades of Ken's claws, hanging all too comfortably at the assassin's sides. With only a foot or two separating the young men now, a mile would have been too close.  
  
Ken's ocean eyes are like turbulent waves, hungry and erratically bright. His full form illuminated in the lamp light isn't even a shadow of his former self. He is something else now. Something else entirely.  
  
"I'm not...scared of you...Ken-kun." Omi lies, his quivering lips all too easily giving him away. "We're friends. Why...would I be scared of you...?"  
  
A wickedly sinister smile creeps into Ken's expression, chilling Omi's blood in his veins.  
  
"I don't know why you'd be scared of me, Omi. Maybe because..." he trails off, grinning all the more. "...you should be."  
  
Faster than anyone could hope to react, Ken lunges forward, driving his claws into the young boy's stomach, and holding Omi close against himself as the horrified blonde clutches at his shirt. A silent cry is all that escapes trembling lips, and brilliant, blue eyes are wide with agony more unbearable than anything he has ever known.  
  
The light from the lamp does even less good now, for Omi's vision is clouded, and his nerves are ablaze with the sharp sting of pain, within as well as without.  
  
"Ke...Ken-ku..." he tries to speak, grimacing past the tears filing his eyes.  
  
"Shhh...don't try to speak..." Ken whispers in reply, with his teammate still held against him, and his lips brushing Omi's ear. "It'll all be over soon..."  
  
A sickening crunch fills the room as Ken twists his claws within such tender flesh, and the renewed suffering of the blow forces a true cry from Omi's mouth this time, sent ricocheting off the shadows and back again.  
  
Gently, Ken lowers Omi's tense and shivering body to the ground, admiring the wince he is offered while ripping his claws free again. Blood is flowing so thick and freely already, in deep shades of black and crimson, staining the floor, both boys' clothes, and especially the steel of Ken's weapon.  
  
Dimly searching eyes stare up into the brunette's cold, cruel face, damp with tears, and unwilling to believe what is happening, even as he feels the blood rising in his throat. "Ken...kun...this isn't real...it can't be...real..." Omi gasps, breathing with much difficulty as fluid begins to fill his aching lungs. "...you'd never...do this...couldn't...couldn't do this to me..."  
  
"I had to do it, Omi." answers Ken's dead-toned voice. The smallest smile is still twitching at the corners of his mouth. "Don't you see? There is no future for us. We're killers. Weiss is all we are, and if I don't stop us, it is all we'll ever be. You have to understand. I couldn't let you become...what I've become."  
  
"Iie...Ken-kun...pl...please don't...do this..."  
  
The fading blonde is granted no reply, but sobs beseechingly to deaf ears, writhing painfully on the floor. Beside him, Ken has seated himself cross-legged with his claws resting harmlessly in his lap. He thought it was going to be difficult to watch his friends die, but the feeling in the pit of his stomach is not guilt. It is undefinable. Almost...peaceful.  
  
"...please...I'm...so scared..." Omi voices, with tears drenching every word. "...I can't...see anything...anymore...Ken-kun...it...it hurts...please...help me..."  
  
"It's almost over now." Ken replies, toneless and entranced. He can't take his eyes off of Omi's gaping wound, bleeding more and more as the color drains from the poor boy's face. "You won't have to be alone for very long. Youji and Aya should be home soon. They'll be by your side when you fall into Hell."  
  
Omi's back arches in a sudden wave of pulsing anguish, and he bites his lower lip to keep from screaming. "...don't say that..." he cries, searching above him with blind eyes for the face of his friend. "Ken...oh, God...I...I don't wanna die...not like this..."  
  
Though Omi cannot see him, Ken's forehead is slowly creasing in distress, and he has wrapped his arms around himself, rocking back and forth to ease his unstable nerves.  
  
He is without emotion. He is overcome with emotion. He is angry. He is indifferent. He feels guilty. He feels nothing. He wants Omi to die. He wants to save Omi before it's too late.  
  
Fuck it! He doesn't know what he wants, what he feels, or what the hell he is anymore! There is nothing to be done now. Once this road is started it must be followed to the end. He just has to keep Omi's voice from invading his senses. Keep that heart-breaking voice away...  
  
"Shut up." Ken whispers, shaking severely, while Omi continues on, pleading with desperate words.  
  
"...help...Ken-kun...please...don't let me die..."  
  
"Stop."  
  
"...I'm scared...it's so dark..."  
  
"Stop it."  
  
"...it doesn't...hurt as much...anymore...Ken...kun...that means I'm...God...please, no..."  
  
"I'm not listening to this."  
  
"...doushite...how could you...do this...to me...Ke-"  
  
"I said, shut up!!"  
  
Slice. Ken's right hand has brandished its claws, pulled back, and driven down through Omi's exposed neck, cutting the boy's words, and silencing him forever with a final, brutal strike.   
  
At first, Ken's features remain twisted in rage and the excitement of the kill, his breathing heavy and labored. Ever so gradually, though, the sight of Omi's stricken face, frozen in the moment of fear and death, causes him to recoil. He pulls away, crawling backwards clumsily to escape the horrifying vision before him.  
  
Dear God, what has he done?  
  
(I...I had no choice...) the brunette resolves, his turquoise eyes locked on his friend's still and stiffening body. (Omi had to die...he had to. It's better this way. Much better. And soon...it'll be over...and they can all be together again...)  
  
Picking himself up from the floor, Ken's delusions are holding fast, and he makes his way back to Omi's dead body, prepared to do what he must to keep the next homecommer from suspecting what awaits him.  
  
  
*****A/N*****  
  
  
I know what you're thinking. "You bitch, you killed Omi!!!" But please bear with me, and accept what happens as it comes. This isn't me writing what I want. This is me writing what I know Ken is capable of. That's what drives me crazy: Ken really could do this. Perhaps you disagree, I certainly wish I could, but I just don't know.  
  
Anyway, thanks a million for the encouraging and thoughtful reviews! I have the incentive to go on now. But...more is even better! So, please keep READING and REVIEWING!   
  
Till next part, minna! 


	3. Part 2

*****Part 2*****  
  
  
A solitary light looms above his expressionless figure as Hidaka Ken stands stiffly before the sink in the kitchen. To anyone looking in on him he would appear to be simply doing the dishes - nothing out of the ordinary. But, to someone who had witnessed his recent actions, the truth would be all too plain.  
  
No plates or silverware lay beneath the water and suds of soap. Only a worn pair of gloves with razor sharp talons sits at the bottom, soaking peacefully to rid themselves of the blood staining their blades.  
  
Ken's thoughts are nearly as vacant as his face, for he cannot focus on anything, too afraid that whimsical ideas in his head will remind of how sick he feels in the pit of his stomach. He cannot afford to remember that. Not when he has to commit the same act that is causing those feelings all over again.  
  
"Yo, where is everybody?!" bellows a voice from the entryway, sounding much more distant than fate has allowed it to be. "Ken?! Omi?! You guys here?!  
  
Shaking out his damp, ashen-blonde hair, Kudo Youji appears in the door frame of the kitchen, and yawns with exhaustion. He has had a surprisingly long day. A long night. And not because of his usual tendencies, either.  
  
Last night Weiss had a mission, and this particular mission, like far too many others preceding it, took a turn for the worst. The unspeakable worst.  
  
"Hey there, Ken." the suddenly somber playboy addresses his younger friend, staring hard at the back of Ken's head. "I saw Omi's bag. He in his room?"  
  
"Hn." replies the placid brunette, offering a barely perceptible nod to accompany his half-hearted answer.  
  
"Figures." Youji smiles, obviously forced, though Ken doesn't see it. Still facing away from him, the commonly laid-back, young man is oddly absorbed in his chore. "So...how ya doing, KenKen? Anything I can do?"  
  
From this vantage point, all Youji can see is the mess of his teammate's tousled hair. He can't even make out what rests inside the sink Ken's hands are submerged in, though he doesn't really give it much thought. Ken has every right to be acting strange today. Every right to be immersing himself in pointless errands.   
  
After all, how often does one of them kill a little kid?  
  
No reply, not even the comfort of an annoyed grunt returns Youji's thoughtful inquiry, and at that very moment, he suddenly realizes just how dark the trailer is. Only a lamp in the living room had greeted his entrance, and the sole light above the kitchen sink isn't much to see by, either.   
  
Outside, the sun has long set, even if it never really shone through during the day's storm. Nevertheless, clouds in the night somehow make the sky even darker than clear ebony. Perhaps it is their gloomy presence, or that they block out the feeble glow of stars and our heavenly moon. Whatever the reason, the darkness is complete and utterly despairing. Not a very welcome development with so much tension already clinging at the walls.  
  
"Look, don't be mad at Aya for locking you up today." Youji begins, taking the smallest step further inside the kitchen, though keeping his distance from the stone-still brunette. "He's just worried about you. We all are. If you need to let out your aggressions, or just run around screaming your head off, I'll understand. Do whatever you have to. I know this isn't easy. Hell, it isn't easy for any of us. But we're all in this together."  
  
At long last, Ken gives a reaction, albeit a small one, as his head tilts to the side, and his shoulders hunch ever so slightly. "You are right about that, Kudo. We are in this together." comes his small yet chilling voice. "Together...til it's over. And even then..." he trails off, straightening his posture again, and diving back in to whatever it is he is washing so methodically in that filmy water.  
  
Youji tenses despite himself, uneased by the hallow tone Ken had used. Somehow, the room, the entire world, seems just a bit darker than it was a moment ago, and for once in the life of this noted ladies' man, he doesn't take comfort in the night.  
  
More importantly, he wishes he wasn't facing the night alone.  
  
"Errr...kinda dark in here, ne? Omi getting on your case about conserving electricity again, or what?" the blonde kids, taking a small step back without even realizing he is doing it. "Did you say he was in his room? What's he doing in there? Studying?"  
  
"Something like that..."  
  
"Well...maybe I'll go check and see if he needs any help."  
  
Running away. Youji turns on his heels and heads for freedom, so obviously running away from his fears. But what is it he fears? That's the real mystery here, the one he can't for the life of him figure out: why is he so afraid of Ken?  
  
Taking note of his teammate's hasty departure, the frightening figure in question turns, facing the doorway full on, and watches Youji's retreating form with insatiable hunger. Leaving his claws where they are, he follows stealthily, grabbing hold of a rather large kitchen knife on the way.   
  
Dragging it along the countertop, he lets it scrape the edge without really comprehending why. Something about the sound of metal making contact with a solid surface sends shivers of pleasure down his spine. They make him forget for the moment the nauseating affect of what that pleasure causes inside of him.  
  
"I'll come with you..."  
  
Down the small hallway to the bedrooms, the lavishly simple trailer seems endless during the trek to Omi's room. Endless for Youji, aware of the unwanted companion at his back. Endless for Ken, aware of what his newest mark is going to discover once they reach their destination.  
  
The hall is even deeper in shadow, dreary and threatening, like a castle corridor in some haunted relic of a home. Life is like a horror movie sometimes, but what happens when the horror, the monster hunting you down, is someone you love?  
  
Reaching Omi's door, Youji knocks gently, eyeing Ken's nearing figure with uncertain apprehension. He is granted no reply, but takes the silence as admittance enough, at least in the urgency of acquiring a bit of normal company.  
  
"Gomen nasai, bishounen...." he starts in, apologizing for his intrusion even as he opens the door. "...but I just wanted to see if -" the words never finish. They can't. Every breath in him is caught in his throat as he takes in what he never could have imagined he was going to find.  
  
Laid neatly on his bed, with small hands resting gently at his sides, is what one could almost believe is a peacefully sleeping Tsukiyono Omi. That is, if one did not have eyes to see what even the small light from outside is making so gruesomely apparent.  
  
Dried and caking blood covers the boy's clothes and bedding. A gapping, mangled wound is all that remains of his tiny torso, and the unmistakable marks of claws through his neck are like oversized bullet holes, too horrifying to be real. It can't be real. None of it. For Christ's sake, his cheerful, blue eyes and perpetually child-like features are still stiff in the embrace of what must have been an excruciatingly sudden and painful death...  
  
...by the hand of a friend.  
  
"...oh...oh God...Omi..." Youji chokes out, clamping a hand to his mouth to keep from throwing up, though the flips his stomach are turning can't possibly keep the urge away for very long.  
  
He doesn't know what to do. What can he do? Omi is...dead. Omi. Sweet, loving Omi, forever holding on to what precious innocence he has left. *Had* left...   
  
Dear Lord, to use past tense makes it all so final.  
  
Youji's remorse only lasts him so long before all his chances to take notice of what is happening behind him pass him by. Ken is no longer shadowing him from a safe distance, but has come up from behind, and at this very moment is slipping an arm around him, holding a knife to his throat.  
  
"I promised Omi he wouldn't have to be alone for very long." Ken whispers, pressing in close to his teammate's body. "You don't want me to break that promise, do you...Youji?"  
  
"Ken...?" the horrified blonde breathes in reply, stiffening over every inch of him, but still in utter shock that what is going on is truly real. "Iie...you didn't...you...*you* tore him apart like this...? God, Ken, look at him! Look what you did to him! That's Omi! Omi...lying there, dead! How could you -"  
  
"I did what I had to do." Ken snaps, stinging the blade into Youji's skin just enough to draw blood. "You don't understand...but you will. Our destinies are all the same. Kill or be killed. I'm just speeding up the process."  
  
Wincing at the pressure on his neck, Youji holds as still as his wavering nerves will allow. "You're wrong, Ken." he answers with renewing conviction, tearing his gaze from the mutilated mess of Omi's body. "My destiny is no one's but mine!"  
  
WHAM. A sharp blow to Ken's stomach sends the boy reeling, and Youji wastes no time in pushing him away, though the cut in ridding himself of that knife is a price he may later regret.   
  
No time to think. Youji dashes into the hallway, sprinting for the living room. Damnit, why had he taken his watch off?! Easy. Because he always yearns to be rid of it the day after a mission, feeling an impulsive need to cast it aside, even if only for a short time. Now, however, that small comfort may cost him dearly.  
  
If memory serves him right, he had left the watch - his camouflaged garrote - on an end table beside the couch. As long as he reaches it in time, he will be able to defend himself. That is, if he has it in him to fight back against one of his closest friends.  
  
The lamp is still glowing brightly from the table, casting just enough light to surround the image of Youji's watch in ethereal wonder, as if a miracle has given him the very chance he needs. The frantic blonde, breathing haggardly from adrenaline and fear, snatches it up in one fluid motion, forcing it on, and releasing a handful of wire as he turns back to the entrance in wait for his pursuer.   
  
Ken is already there, right in front of him, and with tears of anger and desperation, Youji flings the garrote clumsily, praying for success.  
  
Dawning a smile, so cruelly twisted into a sneer, the steady brunette catches the wire with his knife, wrapping it around the blade. He tugs brutally, and Youji flies forward, already off balance from fatigue, hitting the floor hard on his knees. Another tug removes the watch completely, leaving the defeated assassin defenseless, and at the mercy of what awaits him.  
  
Sprawled on the floor, Youji holds his breath in reflex to the stains covering the carpet. Right in front of him is a pool of scarlet, drying and yet still damp, that had remained unseen in the darkness. There is no mistaking it now. It's blood. Omi's blood. Youji is on his knees at the very spot Omi died.  
  
"Why are you fighting this?" Ken hisses, tossing the wire back to have it wrap tightly around his teammate's neck, in an awkward but effective manner. Youji gasps, instinctively clawing at his throat to fight his way free. "I'm surprised at you, Youji." the brunette continues, advancing closer. "Weren't you the one who told me I didn't have the right to love or be loved? Remember? Yuriko. Heh, of course you remember. The great Kudo never forgets a pretty face. Don't think I'm bitter about losing her, or anything. I'm not. You see, you were absolutely right. I'm not worthy of love. None of us are. That's why I have to do this. That's why I have to make it stop."  
  
Tears of agony and lingering disbelief are flooding Youji's emerald eyes. His own wire is cutting into his skin, blocking his airway, and choking him to death in the same way he had used it to kill countless times before. Even, so long ago now, to take the life of the woman he loved. It almost comforts him, the idea of such poetic justice.   
  
Almost.  
  
Brought to his knees, with a dear friend hovering above, tightening that deadly weapon, there is nothing Youji can do, no voice he can use to talk his way out of this. The world is becoming a distant haze.  
  
"I had second thoughts with Omi, you know? Nerves, I guess. Guilt." Ken speaks thoughtfully, his features so serene, while his hands are white from pulling the garrote so viscously taut. "That's how it is when you're a real killer - there are two sides to killing. The good part, if you do it long enough, is it gets easier. Of course, the bad part is...hehehe...heh...it gets easier."  
  
Cold, ocean eyes glare down into the deep green depths of his victim, and the wire is stretched beyond the limit. Youji grimaces, producing a few struggled noises of anguished protest, and pleading silently for reprieve, for mercy.   
  
Ha! What the hell is mercy?  
  
Time is on Ken's side. He has the resolve to wait out his friend's tear-streaked face now, so beseeching, even as the color slowly leaves it. All too swiftly, however, Youji's eyes become glazed and vacant, his body held up by the force of Ken pulling at the strings, and nothing else.  
  
So close now. The end is in sight, and soon all the suffering, all the heartache of what he has had to do, will be over, and Ken, along with every member of Weiss, will be free.  
  
  
*****A/N*****  
  
  
*sheepish smile* Looks like the bitch did it again, ne? Please understand, I merely write where Ken takes me. As for the final member - Aya-kun, my dear Ran - his fate is not yet sealed. Believe what you may, but in the end, you might be surprised.  
  
Thanks again for all the great reviews, so honest and thought-provoking. Also, keep 'em coming, and keep me motivated! My goal is to have this finished before Tuesday, because that's when school starts for me. *boo, hiss* Anyway, no matter what, this will be finished soon, and I hope you're still liking it.  
  
REVIEW minna! Love ya. :-) 


	4. Part 3

*****Part 3*****  
  
  
If it had been any other night, he would have been home long before, but every time he tried to go back to the trailer, his feet kept leading him away, until at last, he had no place left to go.  
  
Fujimiya Ran silently opens the door to the makeshift flower shop he shares as a mobile apartment with his teammates, stepping inside to meet the darkness within. Omi's bookbag and Youji's jacket lie off to the side, and as far as he knows, Ken should still be there from this morning. Everyone is home.   
  
So...why is it so dark? Why is it so hauntingly quiet and still?  
  
Unlike his companions, Ran isn't exactly the sociable type, so he chooses not to call out, deciding instead to investigate personally. As a keen observer, he prides himself on having a certain sixth sense about atmosphere and pressure in a room. Signs that something isn't quite right. Reaching out with each and every one of his senses, the entire trailer is screaming at him that something is very, very wrong.  
  
The first room he comes to is the living room, lit dimly by a solitary lamp. He can see the light even before he turns the corner to peek inside, but soft or not, it is far too much when he sees what it is helping to illuminate.  
  
Strung up like some morbid marionette, Kudo Youji hangs in the center of the room, dripping blood from the razor sharp wires suspending his limbs and body, as well as the many wrapped around his neck. The blonde's face is a sickly shade of white, almost blue, and his once gleaming, emerald eyes, flecked with uncanny slivers of gold, lay half-open, staring blankly forward.  
  
Ran immediately stiffens, his pulse beginning to race, though any outward traces of shock are barely perceptible. The worst possible discovery upon coming home has been realized, and he can't help blaming himself for not being there to prevent whatever caused this nightmare to awaken.  
  
The others. He has to find the others.  
  
Without another thought, Ran turns from the grisly scene in the living room, heading for the kitchen. Other than an empty sink, however, there is nothing out of the ordinary to be found. Meaning, if Ken and Omi are still in the trailer, the only place left for them to be is in their bedrooms.  
  
Long legs carry Ran deeper inside, down the narrow hallway at the back. Omi's room is the first he reaches, and he takes note of how the door is slightly ajar, though no sound is coming from the other side. Stealing a painstaking breath for courage, he pushes the door open with a delicate touch of his hand.  
  
The sight that meets his violet eyes is even more unbearable than the first. Little Omi, always looked on as a child, no matter how many years pass, lies practically gutted on his bed, gawking wide-eyed back at Ran, as if pleading for help that can no longer be given.  
  
Those same intense, violet eyes clench shut as Ran steps away, tightening his fists to still the rage building in the pit of his stomach, and turning from the room to still the relentless grief collecting in his heart.  
  
Someone, some wretched creature, has come into his home, and taken away his loved ones all over again. That cannot be forgiven. Especially, Heaven forbid, if there is a third corpse to be found.  
  
Ran moves further down the hall, this time stopping in front of Ken's door, the one sporting a poster of the brunette's favorite soccer team. The picture is slashed, barely hanging in place, and deflating Ran's hopes for the blessing of a somewhat happy ending. Until he listens to his surroundings a bit more carefully, that is.   
  
Like Omi's, the door has been left partially open, but this time there is more than mere silence greeting his approach. There is the unmistakable sound of breathing. A treasured peculiarity of Ran's is that he has always been able to decipher a person's identity based on the sound of their breath - the faint whisper that isn't even a voice - as long as he knows them well enough.   
  
And the hopeful red-head can honestly say he knows Hidaka Ken better than anyone.  
  
"Thank God. Finding the others like that...I thought...are you all right, Ken?" Ran begins, slipping fearlessly inside his friend's room. Ken is facing away from the door, sitting slouched on his bed with his hands in his lap, hiding them from view. "What happened? Were we attacked? Who did this?"  
  
Ken gives no answer at first, doesn't even acknowledge Ran's existence in his room, but continues staring at the wall in front of him, his breathing labored and irregular, as if he had only recently stopped crying.  
  
Relief, echoed by a deep remorse, saturates every syllable of Ken's words when he finally does speak, tilting his head towards the door, though his eyes seem unable to rest on anything but empty space.  
  
"You can't figure it out on your own...?" he whispers, half laughing, half choking on the sound of his own voice. "You saw what was left of them, and you still don't know?"  
  
"Ken, what are you talking about?" Ran counters, stepping right up to the bed and staring down at his friend from above, though finding no threat in the sight of freshly cleaned claws encasing the brunette's trembling hands. "Were you gone? Is that it? Tell me. I don't care if you disobeyed orders, Ken, just tell me what happened. Who did this to them?"  
  
Turning fully to face the red-head at his back, Ken's turquoise eyes at last meet the narrowed gaze of his teammate, and for the first time, Ran's sharp senses begin picking up on what they had so stubbornly been trying to brush aside.   
  
Ken is what's wrong. Not the early deaths of two good friends. Not the stench of blood and fear, thick in every breath he takes. Not even the darkness weaving through every fiber of the trailer.   
  
It's Ken.  
  
"Who did this to them...?" the brunette repeats back, his gaze unfocusing for a moment, before abruptly returning to Ran's stricken face. "I did..."  
  
Time and memory become nothing at the sound of those tragic words - formless and fathomless - hanging deceptively still, until at last the image of swiftly moving claws disturbs the peaceful picture.   
  
Ken attacks, but his desperate lunge falls surprisingly short. Perhaps Ran somehow saw it coming, backing away just enough to stay out of harm's reach. Either way, Ken lands roughly on the floor, giving the awakened red-head the incentive and chance for escape.  
  
Past events so often repeat themselves, mainly because people have a tendency to react in similar ways to similar situations, despite our many differences. In the heat of the moment, Ran means to take hold of his weapon and defend himself, just as Youji had dashed into the living room to recover his misplaced wire.  
  
The swift red-head sprints for his bedroom, barely losing a step in the darkness. Ensnared within this time of great need, he moves with necessity, and necessity alone. He must have his katana in his hands, whether he intends to use it or not.  
  
Leaving his cherished sword in his room had not been folly, it had been habit. What Ran longs to release himself from during the day is forever the unfortunate truth of what he does at night. The only opportunity for such peace comes in stepping out into the world unarmed, facing it as he once did when life was innocent and he was innocent with it.  
  
Ran stands in the middle of his room now, at an utter loss, without any solution or possibilities left. His katana is not where it should be. It isn't in the closet, under the bed, behind the door, or even wrapped neatly against the wall. He has no weapon to use as a crutch, even if he never planned to rely on that crutch in the first place.  
  
"Looking for this, Aya?" taunts a voice from behind, tensing every tendon in the cornered assassin's body. "I figured you'd go for it. You must have guessed that's what Youji did when he realized what was gonna happen. Heh. Didn't work out too well for him, either."  
  
"I don't believe this. I refuse to believe you could do this!" Ran growls through clenched teeth, turning to face Ken at the door, who is proudly holding a gleaming katana in one hand, while his gloves still cover them both.  
  
"Believe it. You musta seen this coming. Why else would you cage me in for the day? To give me some time to think about what I did? Cut the shit, Aya, I know what I did!!"  
  
A sharp intake of air from somewhere unknown, unseen, but Ran doesn't even flinch. Not at the rising anger in Ken's tone, not at the weapons threatening his very life, not even at the cold, nearly remorseless chill of his friend's ocean eyes.  
  
"You've said it again and again." rants on Ken's bitter accusations, with more venom and indignancy than he had shown with either of the others. "We're nothing but murderers. Don't tell me you're gonna deny it now. I know you won't. It isn't in you. You know exactly what you are...just like I do. Omi was fooling himself, believing in a future that never existed. And Youji? He was half dead already, holding on to some fucking lie that Weiss is more than what we are, like we're supposed to mean something to each other!"  
  
Moving further inside the room, the adamant brunette's steps are steady and deliberately slow-paced. And yet, within every harsh word, every unearthly glance, Ran returns Ken's advances with bold resolve, equally unchangeable.  
  
"We're the same, Aya." Ken speaks again, suddenly softer, almost thoughtful. "Only you...you shut yourself down to keep your sanity. Shut everyone out to save yourself. I'm not strong enough for that, I guess, but I know you can't last much longer, either. Sooner or later, it'll start getting to you, becoming more than you can handle, more than you can suppress. That's why I have to do this. That's why this has to end with us."  
  
Ken raises the katana above his head, staring straight through this final prey, this final friend, because to see him, to truly see him, would hesitate the blow.  
  
CHING.   
  
Metal strikes, meeting not the lily white skin it expected, but the pressure of another blade. Turquoise eyes stare wide into the violet irises so close to his own as the two assassins hold locked in mirrored strength. Ran has pulled a dagger, impressive for a knife, but still no katana. Not by far. Nevertheless, against Ken's lack of skill with a sword, the match is once again an even one.  
  
"Did you think I would go so willingly?" the red-head questions, expressing no emotion, though his eyes easily give him away. If Ken was only able to look into them long enough, he would see the truth, the pain of what he is causing. "If you want this to end, then I will hold you to those words. This *will* end with us."  
  
Releasing the tension of locked blades, Ran propels Ken backwards, nearly tossing the younger man off his feet. Ken's recovery is far faster than anticipated, however, and before Ran can slip out of reach, the enraged brunette charges forward, lifting Ran from the ground, and pinning against the far wall.  
  
The opportunity for a clean kill is once again in Ken's possession, but at that crucial moment he makes the fatal error of looking up into his friend's face - his dear friend's pale, anguished face - and every last barrier he is clinging to breaks. This is one of the few times, one of the sorrowfully few times, the stoic red-head before him is proving unable to hold back his emotions.  
  
There are tears in Ran's eyes, torment written over every feature, and disappointment - yes, disappointment - taking the place of any shreds of fear.  
  
In that brief moment of uncertainty, Ran forces Ken away, shoving the brunette to the side, and giving himself a clear shot at the door. If he can get out of the trailer, regroup his thoughts somehow, he might just stand a chance, even with such a meager weapon as his only defense.   
  
Once again, however, he has underestimated Ken's determination to end this, no matter how much it hurts to finish what has been started.  
  
Slashing brutally at Ran's back, Ken strikes, sending his teammate forcefully to the floor, and leaving ribbons of blood as a vivid reminder of what must be done. Although Ran cries out from the intense and unexpected pain granted him, he somehow manages to roll to the side as his assailant stabs into the floor. Sadly, though, when he gets back to his feet, the wounded red-head realizes that his dagger has been lost, and there is no where to turn when Ken strikes for the final time.  
  
A moment passes that never came, and Ran is looking intensely back at Ken, gazing into blazing eyes like the sea during a summer storm, and noticing that the blade - his own katana - has been plunged into his chest.   
  
Funny. He hadn't even felt the blow.  
  
The blow, this final blow, could be the very end Ken has been seeking. Or it could be something else. The feelings stirring within the frozen victor, parallel to his frozen victim, isn't at all what Ken expected.   
  
This is not the end. Not yet...  
  
  
*****A/N*****  
  
  
Ok, I lied, it's gonna be 6 parts. Also, maybe you weren't as shocked by what happened as you were thinking you would be, cause the surprise I'm thinking of has been moved to the next part. It just ended up being stretched out more than I expected.  
  
Sorry again for taking so long, but school has begun, I have tryouts for the Fall Musical, and it's been difficult to find time to work. I will finish this, and soon, so please keep reading and REVIEWING!!  
  
Ja ne! 


	5. Part 4

*****Part 4*****  
  
  
All sound and static has stopped, barred from entering the trailer, standing so proud and untouchable in the dead of night. Drops of sweat cling to the skin, afraid to fall and shatter the unsettling silence. Drops of blood, on the other hand, are not nearly as forgiving.  
  
Hidaka Ken relaxes back against the wall, sitting beside his friend, Fujimiya Ran, while both remain as muted as their surroundings. They are still in Ran's room, still aware of what has passed between them, and yet they merely sit, staring forward, not speaking a word.  
  
With drooping eyelids, Ran wheezes painfully, the wound in his chest searing up and down his sides with every breath he takes. Heartbreakingly slow, the world is fading away in a rush of memory and forgotten sensations. And yet, even knowing his time is limited, he still does not fear the man beside him, nearly shoulder to shoulder with him on his bedroom floor. What's done is done, after all, but what comes next is what matters. What comes next may change it all.  
  
"It's over..." Ken whispers, though the relief he believed he would feel is no where to be found in the gentle rustle of his voice. "All these years, fighting together, killing together, they're behind us now. It's finally...over..."  
  
"...is it...?"  
  
Turning to look at the red-haired man beside him, Ken finds himself instantly trapped within the violet gaze looking back. Paling, bleeding, dying - Ran is still calm and unafraid.  
  
"...is it really...over...just by killing us...?" Ran questions, furrowing his brow from more than just the pain and beads of sweat on his forehead. "...who will be next...when the call...for blood...comes again...?"  
  
"No one." Ken answers, without a second of hesitation, sharp and unthinking. "No one, ever again. I won't kill anyone else. Not outside these walls..."  
  
The glinting determination in Ken's eyes and the force of his words seem enough to satiate Ran's misgivings. The matter is dropped.   
  
No one outside these walls.  
  
Once again, a sort of peaceful silence blankets the pair. It is all so very different from what happened with the others. Ran will not beg for his life. He will not look on with pleading eyes, begging for mercy. No, not Fujimiya Ran. He will willingly drift off, leaving the world behind with no regrets, and no dreams of what lies in front of him.  
  
"I told Omi he was going to Hell." rips through Ken's sudden statement, tearing the protection of quiet into pieces. "I wish I wouldn't have said that. Not to him. Out of all of us, I think Omi could've made it, ya know? Maybe he really could've had a future, away from all this...death."  
  
Listening intently, Ran fights to hang on and see the end of this, his head hanging limply to the side, held up mostly by the wall behind him, and so little now by his own will. He is looking straight at Ken, unable, even unwilling, to look away. The features of the brunette's boyish face, grown so handsome, so rugged and strong, are bitterly blank and sorrowful.   
  
It breaks the heart.  
  
"Youji, too. He wasn't undeserving of love. Might have even found his way out one day." Ken continues, centering his gaze on some unknown point, far off in the distance. "Even you...you could make it, escape the layers of Hell. At least all of you had a reason to fight. Identity, lost love, family. What did I have? Kase? I thought he was dead. What would a dead man care if I killed for him? What would it have mattered...?"  
  
Blood is still pooling on the ground beneath Ran's crumpled body, but he remains alert, watching every twitch of Ken's eyes, every tear glassing them over.  
  
"Aya...do you think...there is a Heaven for us?"  
  
Ran grimaces from a spasm of pain, as well as a deep, unrelenting tremor within. "...I don't know..." comes his tentative reply, soft and thoughtful. "I hope so...but it really doesn't matter. Whatever...happens...happens to us all. Where one of us...ends up...we all end up. You...are no more guilty...than I am...or Omi is...or Youji. We are...Weiss...together...no matter what fate decides..."  
  
Graceful and fluid, a pale, white hand reaches over to take hold of Ken's, now released from the claws he should have cast aside long ago. Those deadly gloves lay beside him, but they lay there forgotten. Ken desires only the comfort of that hand, the gentleness in that touch, even coming from someone who once seemed impossible of offering comfort or gentleness to anyone.  
  
Tears built up and held at bay release like a dam erupted, pouring from Ken's eyes as he looks back at his friend. His friend...  
  
"Aya...I'm so sorry...I didn't know what else to do..."  
  
"...I know, Ken..." Ran answers back, almost smiling, though everything about him is dimming more and more with every word. It is as if he has already accepted death. As if he had long ago. "...I forgive you...Ken...we...we all forgive you..."  
  
A spark of light, unmatched and intimately beautiful, snuffs out, gone forever. The life in that hand, placed so lovingly over Ken's, draws itself away. Soon, only one breath can be heard, one heartbeat, one heartbreak lingering, and Ken is alone.  
  
He clings to that cold hand, refusing to let go for a million missed heartbeats, until at last he lays it gently on the ground, and reaches up to close the eyelids left slightly open by his friend's silent farewell.  
  
"Arigato...Ran...for more than you know..."  
  
Bodies, weapons, even tears, are all left behind, buried in that final moment. Moving as if in a daze, the entire world blurs around him, and Ken makes his way back to his own bedroom. Once there, though his head barely looks up, his feet carry him to the closet, and to the hidden revolver on the top shelf.  
  
It is doubtful the other members of Weiss were ever aware that Ken had possession of a gun. As far as any of them knew, Ran was the only one who kept one at the ready, and even he barely used it. The idea of stealing the red-head's weapon had occurred to Ken a number of times, actually, but in the end he knew he would want his own for what he had to do.  
  
"No one outside these walls..." Ken murmurs under his breath, fingering the barrel in his hands as he sits on the edge of his bed. "God, forgive me. Wherever we end up...let us be together again. Not as Weiss. Not caught up in any of the shit we couldn't get away from. Just...as ourselves."  
  
No more tears can be shed, for more than a lifetime of them have already fallen. Trembling, but resolute in his decision, Ken brings the gun up to his temple, and closes his eyes.  
  
"...issho ni..."  
  
And a lone sound, unmistakable, echoes throughout every room of the trailer, far into the distance, ending everything once and for all, even before the last traces of that sound fade away. It is now finally over. Four became three, became two, became one, became four again - united eternally in duty, friendship, and love.  
  
The belief that there is always hope is nothing but a lie. Sometimes there is no hope, no way out, no solution.   
  
Sometimes...it is just too late.  
  
  
*****owari*****  
  
  
A/N: *sob, cry, wail, sniffle* Oh, the humanity! Okay, I'm done. Anyhoo, if you can't guess, the surprise was Ran forgiving him. Not what you were hoping for? Too bad! This story fulfilled its purpose and now I am at peace.  
  
If you want a happy ending, go read my story, "Fluesternd." It has everything!  
  
Thanks again to all great reviews, and please, PLEASE REVIEW for this chapter as well. The epilogue, which is actually a song I wrote for Ken to fit this story, shall be posted shorty. I wanted to tape myself singing it - yes, I sing - and put it up with a link to it from the story, but my mic's on the fritz. Maybe someday.  
  
Love you all! Till next ficcie! :-) 


	6. Epilogue

This belongs to me. That means me, not Koyasu, not any of you, and not Ken, either, even if it is a song all about him. Got me? Good. :-)  
  
  
*****Epilogue: I Never Cried*****  
  
  
I never cried  
just a kid  
when I skinned my knees  
took it all in stride  
growin' up  
in faith's company  
see I didn't have to worry  
I knew I'd be okay  
with the game I loved  
and the friend I trusted  
how was I supposed to know  
that I had everything to lose  
  
I never cried  
rising star  
when they kicked me down  
held it all inside  
vowed that I  
would prove them wrong  
I just picked up my burden  
I didn't have a choice  
with those nights of sin  
and the boys all with me  
how were we supposed to know  
that we had nothing left to lose  
  
*it's too late to confess it all now  
I got here on my own  
and there's no way out  
my hands are stained  
with these years of blame  
just another shadow walkin'  
in this endless night  
all these endlessly clear white  
lies  
but I never cried*  
  
I never cried  
such a fool  
when I'd strike them down  
saw the river wide  
crimson red  
pooling on the ground  
used to feel so empty  
these steel claws of mine  
now it's so much worse  
cause it's all too easy  
should have got out when I could  
but now I'm too far gone  
  
*chorus*  
  
there's the real lie  
that I never cried  
the tears were always falling  
from these tired eyes  
falling deeper down  
till it makes me drown  
I'll just keep on fallin'  
keep on sayin'  
I never cried  
  
*chorus*  
  
no  
I never cried  
not since the day I died  
  
  
*****owari*****  
  
  
The real ending. 


End file.
